


firestorm, consuming

by dappledleaves



Series: alternate universes [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dream Smp, Family Issues, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Ghostbur, Ghosts, dragon!wilbur, farewell l'manburg, friend is a ghost sheep and i love him, our boy is a dragon now, please let them rest, quackity and niki are tired, some things will be better, some things will be worse, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dappledleaves/pseuds/dappledleaves
Summary: “Pick people, not sides. That’s what you said, right?” Fundy laughs, something desperate and tired. “I’m choosing people, Ranboo. I’m choosing you.”Or, Dream declares war, and the end result is something better (and worse.)
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Ranboo, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: alternate universes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013103
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95





	firestorm, consuming

**Author's Note:**

> so, hello! 
> 
> this was just a little bit of fun. i love exploring alternate endings to stories. if you're here, hope you enjoy!
> 
> remember, this is all based on the characters played by the content creators, not the real people themselves. please respect them!

_“Pick people, not sides. That’s what you said, right?” Fundy laughs, something desperate and tired. “I’m choosing people, Ranboo. I’m choosing you.”_

  
  
  
  
  


There’s something Quackity knows. Knows with all of his heart.

No matter what side they all choose in the end, they all have something in common. They’re desperate. They’re collecting their strongest armour, their sharpest swords, stuffing them into the chests that have been laid out, the chests that symbolise the ever weakening flame of hope that they all carry. The flame that tells them that maybe, just maybe, they aren't going to win this one. Their panic is justified. Everyone is desperate, and filling the chests. 

Everyone, that is, except Quackity himself. Those around him - Eret, Tubbo - they're filling chests, but he’s emptying his own. He’s packing his bags. He’s moving on.

Win or lose - it hardly matters anymore. Chaos lives in the very soul of this land, and it’s people. This fight isn’t going to change that. Sooner or later they’ll just be fighting over something else. Tommy will give one of his rousing speeches, and they’ll all sigh, bones aching, and collect their weapons for war. 

Not him. He’s tired of this. He’ll miss the people, but he’s done with this country. One day, one day, they might be able to understand how he feels.

Nobody notices him go. He’s glad. It’s better this way. 

  
  
  
  
  


Niki falters, the sword in her hand bringing itself back to the ground. She can’t do this anymore. She won’t do this anymore. 

Even if they win - then what? Tommy lies, again? Causes conflict, again? He’s never going to learn. He’s never going to stop pissing off powerful people, and it’s going to get all of them killed one day. Maybe that day is already here, maybe it’s now, and this is the moment to stop, take a breath, and _live._

She won’t die for him. She values her own life over some silly circles that play music - _replaceable circles,_ too. One day, her name will mean something. One day, she’ll be somewhere where she can rest. She looks to the horizon, the clear, cloudless sky, away from all of the conflict. It’s time she leaves, to find her own story. 

She turns her back to Tommy’s fight. She walks, and she keeps on walking, because there is nobody there to stop her. 

  
  
  
  
  


Phil always knows when Wilbur is approaching him. He doesn’t know if he’s even aware of it, but wherever he goes, the temperature drops. Just a few degrees; and it’s enough to announce his presence. Phil shivers before he turns around to greet him: he’s used to the cold… but _this_ is something else. Something has happened.

And oh. Wilbur’s friend. The promise he’s made, and eventually broken. It does all sound rather familiar, and maybe one of his sons being hurt while he’s trying to teach the other a lesson isn’t ideal, but it’s not like he can go back in time - 

“When I was alive,” Wilbur laments, the rain that collides with his body causing smoke to curl around them both - “when I was alive, I hurt people. I was a dragon. A no good, evil dragon, who deserved to be stopped. And you, Phil…” Ghostly hands rise to point at him, like he's the star of this terrible, terrible show. “You were the hero everybody needed, wanted - the Saint George of their hopes and dreams.” 

The wreckage of his house suddenly feels a lot warmer - like there are flames licking at his ankles, or ghosts of explosions in the earth. The tang of gunpowder fills the air, ash overwhelming what little freshness still remains, and the breath catches in Phil’s throat. 

The ghost of his son smiles; but it is harsh where it should be soft, angry where there should be peace. “You aren’t a hero anymore,” Wilbur spits, and Phil cannot tell if he is still smouldering from the rain, or if this is something else, something new entirely. “But I’m still a dragon. And you know what, Phil?” 

Feet, rising off the ground - he can only watch as the cloud of fire and soot continues to grow and circle Wilbur as he floats above L’manburg’s remains, his smile growing more malicious with each undead beat of his heat. 

“I’m dead. You can’t kill a dragon _twice_.”

His grin has too many teeth. Phil doesn’t recognise his son anymore - he hasn’t recognised him in a long time. Somewhere along the way, the young man who left home with Tommy at his side (that boy would follow him anywhere) has become a stranger - one who obsesses over tnt, over the L’Manburg that he claims ownership of. He’s become a man who looks his happiest when the nation he’s created is being torn apart. He’s nothing but a ghost; haunting their lives because of unfinished business. 

All Phil can do is wonder, while the apparition in front of him shifts and changes into something with snapping teeth, and sharp jagged wings that attack the sky in order to remain airborne. He wonders if Wilbur’s unfinished business is him.

How easy it’ll be to crush him in his claws, if he wants to. How laughably simple it’ll be to set the broken remains of L’Manburg alight, turning the rubble into ash, into dust, into soot.

“Wilbur,” he warns. “Son.”

The roar of a dragon is the only response he gets, before Wilbur’s anger blots out the sun.

Elsewhere, ghostly figures watch on. Or, one of them watches on, clenching the sleeves of his suit jacket in his hands as he laughs - disbelief at the sight before his eyes. When he notices what he’s doing, he immediately lets go, smoothing them back down the best he can with a mumble of a curse. A sheep of ghostly blue is next to him, always there, always a friend. They try their best to eat the grass, to no avail. 

The ghost in the suit sighs, ruffling the sheep’s head fondly - then turns back to the chaos. Pride pours into his chest, and he feels almost whole again.

“Good luck, Mr Saint,” he jeers - to no one, and to nothing. “You’re going to need it.”

**Author's Note:**

> yeah sooooo 
> 
> character wilbur: *compares himself to a dragon*  
> me: WRITE THAT DOWN
> 
> hope you all enjoyed aaaaa. just, imagine. fundy and ranboo being friends. quackity leaving everything behind. niki refusing to fight. dragon wilbur!!! so many alternate paths. 
> 
> have a good day/night, and i hope you all stay safe! :)


End file.
